


the louvre

by toulouser



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Losers Club (IT), Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Europe, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, M/M, Nightmares, Richie Tozier Being an Asshole, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Road Trips, Slow Burn, band au, eddie has reoccurring nightmares, the Louvre, they are childhood friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22215487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toulouser/pseuds/toulouser
Summary: however, there was more to it. the entire museum seemed to be in the dark- the windows revealing only darkness. now, there was a light coming through the ceiling, illuminating a spot on the stairs leading up to the winged victory like a piece of heaven.a spot where a boy sat, casually.a boy with obnoxious, curly, dark hair and big, dorky glasses. not to mention, the lack of any fashion sense traced on his body. eddie’s heart squeezed at the sight of him. it always did.—-in which eddie has reoccurring night terrors in the louvre & richie’s band is falling apart.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. winged victory

it always seemed to happen in the louvre. after dark with the paintings gleaming down upon him like monsters. or the grecian & roman sculptures glaring at him like demons. the great, gorgeous halls seemed to grow cold & distorted- a place once so glorious and full with people now terrifying and lonely. eddie really only visited the louvre once- he was twenty one and with his best friend, kayla- and the real louvre as he remembered was wonderful. 

but not now. not when he walked alone through the halls, petrified of even his own shadow that stretched on and on behind him. petrified of all the eyes that were in him at every second- the artwork felt alive in all the worst ways possible. he was waiting for one of them to strangle him. daring them to reach out and grab him. which was fucking horrible, already. 

but it only seemed to get worse. 

eddie sometimes saw her. or he thought he did. she was always at the corner of his eyes, begging for him to jump and fear and look back. and when he first had these dreams that was exactly what he did. until it was confirmed that every time he looked back, it wasn’t her- just some painting of a big lady. but it always rattled him in such a sickening fashion, that she still had the power to roam around in his own subconscious…

god, he didn’t even want to think of her name. afraid that if any part of his mind pictured her, it would summon her out of nowhere and into this nightmare. fuck. after years of this louvre dream, though, he stopped looking back. that lady wasn’t her, she’s not here, let it go. 

his body drifted through endless halls and up & down stairs like a ghost. the louvre never stayed the same in his mind. halls faded into different galleries all the time, but he always felt like he saw the same disturbing baroque piece or the same painting of the crucifixion of jesus. he never saw the great painting. never the mona lisa, never the iconic french revolution painting. not even the naked body of the bather. he never knew why this was- maybe it was to jeopardize the sense of familiarity in his environment? that the terror he felt would lessen if he saw the familiar smile of the mona lisa? 

but that couldn’t be it. because the sculptures he saw in his dream were notorious. he always saw the venus or the statue of marcellus. then again, whenever he edged too close to any sculpture, he had sirens going off his in his head, warning him that it would fall upon him and crush him. he always thought, looking back on a dream, that wouldn’t he just want to be crushed? send him out of his goddamned miseries, right? maybe snap him out of the hell he was walking through, more quickly. but he couldn’t explain it- in the moment, being crushed by brilliant works of art seemed like the absolute worst thing in the world. he’d rather continue on then have that happen. he didn’t know why. he probably wouldn’t even figure out why. 

paintings were worse. always worse. when he & kayla actually visited the louvre, they went on a wild goose chase for the mona lisa. it wasn’t in its usual spot- due to some kind of restorations. but they ended up on the third floor with all of the peculiar baroque shit. they haunted him then but his twisted mind only seemed to make them worse. it was like the watchers of hell were observing every. single. move. all of them perched into artworks (as if that was any disguise) just judging and observing eddie like some circus animal. 

it pricked at eddie’s skin, made him play with the hem of his shirt, caused him to search his pockets for some sort of relief. goddamnit. god fucking damnit, how come he never had his pills or inhaler on him during these things? with that thought though, he’d hyperventilate and before he could take any step further, he’d feel his legs falter and the alarms went on like wildfire in his head. 

run! run! run! run!

the repetition was near useless- he didn’t need the extra spout of panic- he turned and sprinted the moment the words flashed through his brain. he ran through the halls and he swore- fucking swore the paintings were laughing at him. 

eddie-bear! eddie-bear! eddie-bear!

all of them shrieked in some horrible mantra, the familiar voice only making him even more sick. he stumbled down marble stairs, shaking in terror. he was grateful he could run. he couldn’t scream but the nightmare let him run when it got too much. he couldn’t imagine what he’d do if he was glued in place in one of those galleries- expected to endure all the taunting.

he didn’t want to think about it. he didn’t want to give his traumatized subconscious anymore ideas. what he was dealing with in the louvre was more than enough trauma. 

he did eventually stop running- when he approached a long gallery of jesus fanart. the pieces depicted crucifixions, saints, mary, all of it. he never was religious- never got much of a choice to be. but he knew at the end of the day, it wasn’t his bag. religion seemed ridiculous- why should he have faith in some upper being… an upper being that was supposed to care for him, when all he had walked through was some tainted version of hell for him his whole life 

but. but the religious section was always safe for eddie. the paintings didn’t seem evil- gruesome and miserable, yes- but not outright evil. he relaxed then. no more statues crushing him. no more evil paintings laughing at him. he saw the light at the end of the tunnel- or more like, felt it. this always was the final act of the nightmare- the calling of light, ushering him through the darkness. 

he pushed past the long gallery and into another smaller gallery. this one had jesus fanart, as well except older. the large gallery had a collection of dramatic, extremely detailed paintings that were clearly of the renaissance standards. these ones were from the middle ages- all golden, less realistic and the nameless artists that devoted their art to the roman catholic church. the sight of these paintings- paintings his brain probably fabricated- brought an unstable amount of joy. he rounded the corner to reveal the glass wall. 

the glass wall that revealed the little courtyard of stairs and where the majestic winged victory stood. of all things, this was the art piece eddie remembered the best about the louvre. the headless, armless statue, the beauty of its carving making the dress look like it’s blowing through the wind. the wings pointed back and it stood upon a broken apart ledge. it was apart of some grecian building. the parthenon? eddie didn’t know the history of it- he didn’t go into history, after all (but maybe he should? if it’s such an important part of his subconscious? maybe he should just study the entire history of the louvre and then he could possibly have closure to this wicked nightmare). 

however, there was more to it. the entire museum seemed to be in the dark- the windows revealing only darkness. now, there was a light coming through the ceiling, illuminating a spot on the stairs leading up to the winged victory like a piece of heaven. 

a spot where a boy sat, casually. 

a boy with obnoxious, curly, dark hair and big, dorky glasses. not to mention, the lack of any fashion sense traced on his body. eddie’s heart squeezed at the sight of him. it always did. 

he put a hand on the glass as he watched for once in richie tozier’s goddamned life, him sitting so calmly on the stairs. eddie tried opening the door, pounding on the glass- everything to get to richie. but he was always stuck in the gallery, left to admire him from afar. jesus christ, he never thought he’d admire richie but suppose, this was his wildest dreams. 

but before eddie could look at him for the extra details- the way his glasses would slightly slide down, the way his muscles moved in his neck when he turned his head, the way his elbows looked propped against the marble staircase- a pair of arms wrapped around him and pulled him away into darkness. his scream was gone. the louvre was gone. 

with a startled gasp, eddie blinked back into reality, his face dripping with sweat as he scanned the room around him. shit. shit. shit. shit. shit. shit. he was shaking, badly. fuck, fuck, fuck goddamnit! why did his louvre dreams still cause him to shit his pants in this way? shaking, he reached over to grab his inhaler. 

shit. 

when he managed to cool off somewhat, he laid back down on his bed, trying to regain his cool and calm his heartbeat. he focused on his surroundings. he was fine, he was living, perfectly stable and all right. 

he gripped at his bed sheets, trying to forget the louvre dreams. all of them. he wanted them gone and out of his head. but that was always too much to ask. always. they would always grip at his mind. every goddamn portion of it, whether it’s the paintings, the sculptures, the religious artwork, the masterpiece that was richie tozier or being pulled back into a mysterious force that abruptly ended the dream. 

it was always the same. always the same. 

finally eddie grabbed his phone to look at the clock. 

4:37 AM. 

with a sigh, he got up and out of bed. he knew the routine. he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. he decided, it was the best to get on with his day. 

——

the fallen angels were having a serious crisis, that may be beyond repair. luckily, the only time the band wasn’t falling apart was on stage, performing. so richie felt relieved the fans hadn’t seen the full extent of it. sure, they had seen the interviews and could sniff the tension off of them. he had seen countless twitter threads of conspiracies on the possible break up or hiatus of the band. and he had watched those countless compilations of ‘richie annoying the possible hell out of his band mates for 15 minutes straight’. 

it wouldn’t be long for his fans to connect the dots. that the reason for all this turmoil and tension was purely because of him. because he couldn’t keep his trashmouth shut, the charm it originally had on his bandmates were wearing off. 

as they grew more in fame, all of them wanted to become a more mature and sophisticated band- and richie yelling stupid sex jokes into the audience like a twelve year old was not helping to that image. nor were his horrendous fashion choices that he refused to change- he wouldn’t let one personal stylist get near him, though. 

so yeah. there were tensions and it was all because of richie. he could feel his bandmates waiting to find the perfect moment to get rid of him. so what if he was the lead singer- he could still be easily replaced by someone who would willingly fit the image. it’s not like it hadn’t been done before in bands- take david lee roth from van halen for example. they threw him out. richie tozier was only bound to become the next david lee roth- his band mates were already probably off looking for the proper sammy hagar. it would make sense since everyone seemed to prefer van halen with sammy. 

god, maybe he should just leave? he could carry out a solo career or just go off, miserably as a nobody. it would ease the tensions in the fallen angels. surely, if he just quit after the tour was done, it would be an almost win-win situation for everyone. 

but…

but this fucking band was his. he came up with the idea, the name- all of it. it wasn’t fucking fair to him that he had to give up something that made him who he was. right? so why the hell was this backfiring on him? why did things seem to always backfire on him?

“i was thinking about glitter,” richie exclaimed before one of their shows. “like fuck tons of glitter fucking falling from the ceiling.”

cleo looked up at him, no longer even hiding the boredom of him like she used to. “glitter? really? you know we can’t just add that mid-tour. besides, confetti’s well more than enough.”

confetti was his idea, of course. and it caused a considerable amount of trouble, especially with cleo- god, it was goddamned confetti, why was it such a big deal! he didn’t understand when or how his bandmates became so concerned with ‘the image of the band’. just focus on the music! that’s why they were there in the first place!

richie didn’t know how his once, super cool (and stoner) college friends grew sticks up their asses. it was only a year and a half ago when they were laughing about richie’s milfs on a balcony in texas as they passed a blunt. 

but of course, it seemed like the drummers in bands always seemed to be the ones fucking things up. because out of the blue, lorchan quit smoking and the rest of the band followed suit. so now his bandmates were on some level of mob mentality and richie was just expected to be okay with that? he had no one to smoke with, now and what was the point of rolling joints alone like a loser?

i mean, their first ep and album were made while high- even their name had something to do with drugs. they joked they were ‘fallen angels’ because they used to use pages of the bible to roll into joints for the hell of it. 

“but it would look so cool!” richie tried to convince as he scanned the snacks that were on the table in the green room. 

here he was pushing, pushing tensions and testing how far he could go without pissing cleo off too much. he never cared about what people thought, necessarily- it was just a richie thing to do. it was apart of him to be an annoying dick even if his band was on the line. his band. 

“no one. no one likes glitter, richie,” cleo snapped. 

“i do,” richie said, trying to sound as offended as possible. 

she gave him a look. one that richie knew all foo well. damn. this was about glitter. fucking glitter. 

“of course you do. it’s the only thing that’s almost as insufferable as you are,” cleo shot back, bitterly. 

richie cracked a smile at that, then. sure, it should’ve cut into him but this didn’t. he could take in insults like it was nobody’s business. he looked cleo over and leaned against the table of the green room, feeling and looking like a smug motherfucker. 

“fans say it’s my charm. that my ability to be insufferable is absolutely sexy,” he said with a wink. 

“well, i surely don’t think that way,” cleo snarled. 

“but you’re mother thought that way last night,” richie shot right back, pleased with himself as cleo gagged. 

you know what? it definitely was the lack of drugs in his bandmates systems that led to their downfall. school and society always try to urge people away from drugs- saying that it’s ‘bad for you’ and will ‘make you a bad person’. which isn’t wrong. but if you were born to be a stoner, you were just meant to be a stoner, you know? especially if you plan to be a rockstar. it just completed the image if you were high all the time- and it looked better than having a stick up your ass. 

“fuck off, richie,” cleo snapped and got up from where she was sitting on the lounge chair. 

he didn’t try to call her back and didn’t even glance at her as she left the room. he knew she was off to bitch about him with the others like some middle schooler. but it didn’t bother him- richie was fucking used to this routine, by now. c’est la vie, right?

he grabbed the container of cheese puffs on the table and stuck his hand inside to grab a big cheesy handful. 

fuck them. fuck this. he didn’t need a band. he only needed himself. he doesn’t give a shit. 

but it was clear as day he gave too many shits.


	2. the palace of darius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “this is the world, eddie,” she said. “this is your world. look at all the possibility and memories to be made just on this single street alone. fuck, your soulmate could be walking down there right now and you wouldn’t even know it.”
> 
> eddie glanced down at the sidewalks- at the people who looked like ants from far above. 
> 
> “this is a weird way to convince a guy to go to a fucking concert with you,” eddie blurted.

eddie never left his apartment until he was completely certain of only a few things.

one, being that he had to have his entire day plotted out ahead of him so there would be no surprises. sure, surprise was completely inevitable but he did his best to address most possibilities. 

two, he made sure he had everything he needed for the day- inhaler, pills, sunglasses if it was sunny, parka if it was cold, et cetera. he did not want to have to go back to his apartment if he left something behind, especially if he was at work. 

third, he made sure his appearance looked alright. it wasn’t a result of OCD or a mental illness in that boat but a whole lot of trauma mixed with a whole lot of anxiety. he was a natural born worrier- it was what he did best. 

and it was all apart of his boring, mundane life- that eddie kaspbrak was a painful anxious mess, bored out of his mind in the world of average. sonia demanded greatness out of him to the point that he felt he needed to be perfect- like the next thomas edison. he was a perfectionist and while his mother was long dead and he didn’t feel like he cared about her, he felt like he had let himself down. he was supposed to be great, wasn’t he?

so what happened? or was he really supposed to be some office worker? doing something as mundane as selling insurance! sometimes he would trace back to what he did wrong, thinking of all the ways things could have gone differently. how he could’ve been so much grander than what he ultimately became. 

hell, look at richie- lead of a successful band. then bill, a fucking up and coming author, or bev, who was starting to make a name for herself in the fashion world. eddie felt like he was behind or not doing enough- all of his forgotten childhood friends were in a better place than him and he was stuck in the same old routine. 

he tried not to think about every single negative thing in his life but fuck, was it hard when everything seemed to be so negative. 

when he left his apartment, he usually called one of his work friends named amanda on the way to work. he figured it was good to keep in the know even if he was going to see her in person in twenty minutes. she led an entertaining life and it always baffled eddie- how she could live such a loud, boisterous life while still selling insurance. he was glad she was in his life, though. it brought at least some color to it and she helped get through the shitty work days and help him look past their shitty boss. 

on one particular day, however, when it was january & snowy & gross, he had an interesting conversation with amanda, or mandy for short. 

“do you listen to the fallen angels?” mandy had asked out of the blue, leaning over to the side of his cubicle. 

the fallen angels- richie’s band. richie’s gloriously successful band, or should he say, stupidly successful. 

“a bit? why?” eddie asked because mandy didn’t have a single idea that he used to be ‘besties’ with the goddamned lead singer. 

“well. i have tickets for when they’re coming to town in a week. my friend, chrisitian wasn’t able to make it like planned so he’s letting me give out the extra ticket,” mandy exclaimed. 

for some reason, eddie felt the insufferable feeling of dread. he hadn’t seen nor really come into contact with richie since the losers club left derry for college, seven years ago. and while richie probably wouldn’t even know he was there if he went, the sensation of being at fucking trashmouth’s concert was far too much for him. but don’t get him wrong, it would be a lie if he told you he didn’t stalk richie online every once in awhile. he had to know how he was doing and that information was extremely accessible- it was almost like something eddie had to do. but seeing richie’s shitty self through a computer screen was different than being in the same room as him, breathing the same fucking air. shit, god no. 

plus, eddie hated concerts. 

“i’m sorry, i can’t,” he replied. 

“what? why not? do you even know the date it’s on?” mandy asked, quirking an eyebrow. 

“no, no i don’t,” eddie said. “i’m just not a concert guy.”

which wasn’t the full truth but still the fucking truth. mandy simply just rolled her eyes at that. 

“eddie! what the fuck! you always whine about how boring your life is but babes, this is why! you don’t like going out & living!” mandy gushed. 

eddie shot her a dirty look. “hey. not true. i just don’t like the concert environment- you don’t know how dirty it is to be pressed up against strangers.”

“or you’re just fucking bor-ing,” mandy declared, with a teasing grin. 

“am not,” eddie countered, shaking his head. 

“are too,” mandy said then with a whoosh, she grabbed his wrist in order to pull him up. “c’mon.”

“where are we going?” eddie asked, keeping his feet and ass dead bolted in place. 

she gave him a knowing look. goddamn her, why the fuck did she know him so well- it almost felt like she could look into eddie and see every part of him. he hated it and appreciated it all at the same time- it was good to have someone who seemingly understood. 

he sighed, then got up with a dramatic roll of his eyes. “fine.”

she smiled then led him through the boring office made out of cubicles. the monotonic sounds of keyboards crunching and serious conversation over telephone were the only noise heard in the room. the walls were bland, soulless and white. this. this was a room eddie could see someone going insane in. he could see himself going insane there, if this was to be his life from then on. it was a chilling thought. 

she led him to the window, though & urged him to look at the city that was depicted beyond the glass. 

“what?” he asked, confused. 

“look,” she responded. 

eddie gave her a weird glance before turning his attention to the city outside- it was chicago, the dark skyscrapers up and down michigan avenue gleamed upward around the building they were situated in. below, there was a lot of traffic, both on the road & the sidewalks as people were trying to get from one place to another. if he craned his neck far enough to the left, he would be able to see a bit of the chicago river and if he did the same to the right, he would be able to see a tree or two from millennium park. it was normal. the city looked the same as always- he had no idea what he was supposed to be looking at. 

“yes?” eddie asked, confused. 

“this is the world, eddie,” she said. “this is your world. look at all the possibility and memories to be made just on this single street alone. fuck, your soulmate could be walking down there right now and you wouldn’t even know it.”

eddie glanced down at the sidewalks- at the people who looked like ants from far above. 

“this is a weird way to convince a guy to go to a fucking concert with you,” eddie blurted. 

she rolled her eyes. “you’re missing the point. the world is full of opportunity. and the reason why you’re so bored is because you’re ignoring that. you come here everyday to a job you hate then go to your apartment and mope around like a depressed piece of shit. you know you have a choice to quit this job, a choice to live your life more, a choice to do what you really want to do. but you’re ignoring that.”

“you know i can’t quit. you know that much too- you hate this job as much as i do and you can’t quit,” eddie argued. 

mandy scanned his face then looked out the window, once more in such a longingly fashion. eddie had no clue how such a dreamer could end up in such a hole like this. 

“true. but i go out and live my life as much as i can,” she said. “just… if you ever see an opportunity that you want to take, go after it, eddie. sometimes ignoring the risks can be better than living in regret of not getting the chance to be happy.”

mandy was far too smart for her own good. the both of them spending their days selling insurance in an office building, was just wasted potential for both parties. 

“okay, sure, gandhi,” eddie replied which caused mandy to give him a proper shove. 

“oh fuck you, appreciate my speech more,” she said. 

he did appreciate it. he needed to hear it and it was good advice from someone who somewhat followed it. better than he did, anyways but he knew things were going to stay the same. there were no glamorous opportunities in eddie kaspbrak’s future. 

“sure, sure,” eddie said with a laugh and throwing his hands up in defense. 

out of the corner of his eyes, he could see their boss looming across the office with his eyes on them. he tried not to think about it and focused on his friend in front of him. 

“so any chance you’ll be able to go to that concert with me?” she asked, half joking and with a pout. 

and see richie trashmouth tozier be swimming in success while eddie was drowning in boredom? well, that was an easy, fat no. 

“any chance we could get back to work before mclean skins us alive?” eddie said instead of an answer, nodding in the direction of their boss. 

she looked over for a moment then grinned at eddie with her signature smile. 

“hardly,” she said but began to walk back to her gloomy cubicle, anyways. 

——-

richie tozier was bound to become one of two things. either a comedian or a musician- he had the qualities for both. he was stupid funny and stupid good at making music. he had growing up with an extensive knowledge of music to thank for the latter aspect. 

so it was a surprise to no one, really, when he found his musical counterparts and formed a band. a band that shot up to fame, disgustingly fast- it seemed unfair to all of the bands who had spent years trying to make it. but what could richie say except that he was fucking grateful?

the band was made up of four people. him- lead singer and lead guitar. cleo franklin- bass & backup singer. poppy zimmerman- keyboards & sometimes guitar. and lorchan hanover- drums. they all had their ‘stans’ on twitter and whatnot but richie had the most. he liked to think that another one of the reasons why there were tensions was the fact that he was a fan favorite. were people writing y/n fics about lorchan? sure, just not in the bulk that richie had. he read some of those for laughs and was genuinely touched that people would take the time out of their day to write smut about him. truly touching. 

the band had an ep, self titled and an album that went successful like wildfire. both of them were high scoring among critics and regarded as ‘a sensation to the indie rock world’. not grammy worthy yet but richie could smell the grammy’s in his future better than ever. the newest album was a hit. more people were coming to the concerts, more girls (and guys) were swooning over richie’s handsome looks and shitty ways (“trust me, while i’m flattered by your lovely tweets, you all know i’d rather be fucking your mothers. so, if any moms out there are interested, please send me a dm,” richie addressed his overwhelming love for his fans on stage in portland, once) and more pressure from their record label. 

it was a shit fest at that point. a fucking roller coaster that richie was scared to be on and get off of, simultaneously. because this is what he dreamed of, right? he remembered all those hours as a teenager, trying to perfect band and having fans who would scream his name, ‘richie! richie! richie!’ well, now he had it and he felt somewhat melancholy of the whole experience. he should’ve listened to people when they said fame was bittersweet. because damn, so far it was just that. 

but he liked performing and doing what he loved for the people who loved him. before the detroit show, richie was finishing up his appearance- tousling his hair in just the way to make it messy & cool and making sure the glitter he put in his face would stay on (glitter was a new adaption to his stage looks. if it couldn’t fall from the ceiling, he was going to wear it). 

“you’re on in five minutes!” a crew member shouted backstage although everyone was there & ready. 

the intro they had curated was playing & the audience was screaming with excitement. 

“don’t do anything fucking stupid,” cleo said to richie & only richie. 

she had said this before every show on the tour. richie was beginning to look at this as a tradition rather than a reminder of how much he was disliked by his once prized bandmates. this was just a pre-show stage ritual. nothing more than that. see? richie was good at ignoring or altering the situation to make him feel better. 

“no promises, my love!” richie shouted over the commotion of the crowd in his shitty impression of a British accent. 

cleo rolled her eyes and grumped away to lorchan & poppy who were huddled together. that left richie alone, exposed and vulnerable in the darkness of the backstage. well, shit. richie was so miraculous at being a loser that he was outcasted in his own band. 

how lame. how lame. how fucking lame. 

eventually though, the intro was beginning to close and a crew member ushered them into place. 

“ladies & fuckers!” richie’s pre-recorded voice boomed across the stadium as audience members grew even louder. “please welcome, the fallen angels!!!!!”

they ran out, the crowd loud as ever & richie began to play the opening chords on the first song. this, this was okay- absolutely okay. 

what wasn’t, on the other hand was the thing that occurred post-show in chicago, a few nights later. for the first time, ever, he was ushered off stage after encore, by an extremely pissed cleo to her dressing room. 

“whoa! if you want to get into my pants this badly, you could’ve just said something, not drag me into your dressing room in front of everybody,” richie teased, trying to soften the conversation that was bound to happen. 

“SHUT UP, RICHIE,” cleo practically screamed. “shut your fucking stupid ass mouth for once in your goddamned life!”

“geez i-“

“no! no, you listen to me, mr. do whatever i fucking please! i am so sick of you & your desire to just ruin everything for your own selfish reasons. i know- i know damn well you can’t handle change but you have to accept it. we aren’t the same people we were four years ago. a bunch of dreamers passing around blunts like, like- shit, richie, we’re professionals now,” cleo yelled. “and you. you’re just an immature piece of shit.”

“which i pride myself by,” richie said. 

wrong thing. total wrong thing to say on all accounts & he somewhat expected the slap that was slammed into his face by cleo. 

“shut it!” she yelled. 

now, richie was beginning to get genuinely mad. he straightened himself up & used the fact he was taller than cleo to his advantage. 

“is this really because of the david lee roth comment?” richie asked, his voice raising. 

cleo pushed him away. “of course it fuckin’ is. what else would it be, you dumb shit!”

“that was nothing!”

“oh, you know it was something, alright. don’t act like you didn’t see all the tweets that were popping up on your phone before encore, theorizing and almost confirming that- that- that-“

“that i was going to be kicked out of the band like david lee roth was? well, aren’t i? you guys don’t fucking like me anymore & i bet you’ve got your pretty sammy hagar waiting to replace me-“

“no, richie! why the fuck would you even- no, you’re a piece of shit & you’re absolutely right when you say i don’t like you, but you’re the money in this band. you know that, too,” cleo yelled. 

richie flinched at that. the money. the fucking money! was that all she cared about when it came to this band. 

“the… the money?” richie said, sounding baffled. 

“yes, rich. the money. while i wish we could just have some sammy hagar ready to replace your ass, we can’t. we would be fucking screwed without you,” cleo said. 

“jesus fuckin’ christ. ain’t that just flattering? whatever happened to the music? just enjoying it, instead of worrying about all of this shit?”

cleo’s face hardened. richie used to really admire this woman and how her brain worked. how she cared so much and so little all at the same time. that woman was gone. long gone. now she was nothing more than a fake, money hungry monster. 

“things change, rich. suck it up,” she said, harshly. 

it was silent, momentarily as richie was trying to take it all in. so this wasn’t going to be a repeat of van halen then. well, so much for the clever comment he made during the show about being the next david lee roth. suppose he should’ve been more cryptic about it. 

“so… so you’re not going to replace me?” richie asked, trying to let it all settle in. 

“unfortunately, no,” she said, right back. 

“then what were you going to do about me then, huh? just let the tensions swallow us whole?” richie snarled. 

cleo held her head up high, even though she looked ready to chuck something at him. 

“no, in all honesty, we plan to force you into becoming apart of our new image. you think you run the place here but you don’t. you fuckin’ don’t,” she snapped. 

“this is my band, though.”

“our band, actually. see, richie! this is the exact problem with you! everything’s about you. always you!”

“but it fucking is! whose fucking idea was it? mine! who sings and writes most of the songs? me! it’s absolutely fucking mind boggling to think you could force me into anything,” richie yelled. 

cleo’s face darkened & richie knew he was in deep shit. but he was going to accept it- whatever happens, no need wasting his time getting his titties in a bunch with this situation. 

“richie tozier, don’t you have hell coming for you. this is not your band- you don’t have the control you think you have. we’re no more than guinea pigs. our contracts lenient now but when we get bigger and bigger, you won’t be like this anymore, god fuckin’ bless,” cleo exclaimed, her voice low. 

looking at her, cleo seemed almost evil. god, did he want to be in a band with this crazy woman? no. shit- fame was not a good look on her. so he decided, then- she was right. the contract he was on was extremely lenient, it was best that he could take advantage of it before it was too late. 

“fine, i’ll make it easier for you,” he said. “i quit.”

“what? you can’t do that-“

“oh fuck yeah, i can. i don’t wanna sit around & have someone like you, boss me around. i’m out,” richie said. 

he turned & began to walk towards the door to leave. cleo raced after him in a flurry and grabbed his arm. 

“you’re making a stupid mistake, tozier.”

“oh am i?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“yes, you goddamn idiot.”

“well, you know me. i’m an expert at stupid fuckin’ mistakes. you should know that by now,” he said & with that, opened the door, yelling, “i’m fucking quitting, hear that?! i’m done!”

he kept yelling the words over & over again throughout the halls, not giving a single shit because it felt so good. with a frustrated sound, cleo slammed the door behind him. he figured he didn’t need to say goodbye to anyone else. he was unwanted there, anyways. 

so he went to his dressing room to grab his things and tapped into his phone, the nearest bar. what better way to celebrate this momentous moment by drinking away his misories, right?

absolutely fucking right.

**Author's Note:**

> some little history about the winged victory since eddie was incompetent to know anything about it, smh. 
> 
> the winged victory was not on the Parthenon but on the sanctuary of the great gods in samothrace, greece. it’s been an exhibit in the louvre since 1883. 
> 
> however in 1939, it was taken down momentarily because the French did not want it to be taken away by the nazis. 
> 
> the winged victory, is definitely my favorite piece in the museum and like eddie’s, the one i remember the most.


End file.
